


we'll toast to the could-have-been queen

by potato_writes



Series: i'm standing right here on (jaime's) side [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Galas, Heists, I'm probably over-rating this but this will get darker in later installments so, I'm sure this could be really cool if someone else did it, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Relationship(s), Quasi-Ocean's Eleven AU, Reunions, boy did this one get away from me, but I only care about two characters and so you get this instead, but are they going to stay in the past?, stay tuned!, there's other things too but this one shows up the most I guess, very ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26826805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potato_writes/pseuds/potato_writes
Summary: Ygritte snorts but says nothing more, and Brienne silently thanks her for not pushing the matter any further. Unfortunately, she’s the biggest risk in this whole operation, and all of them know it far too well. Ygritte has every right to be worried about her becoming distracted and blowing this for all of them.But he said he wouldn’t be coming tonight, weeks ago when he was laying next to her in bed, golden and beautiful in the morning sunlight. He hates these events, makes any excuse he can to get out of him. This particular night won’t be the exception. She can’t afford for it to be.while her team moves to take down Tywin Lannister at the biggest charity gala of the year, Brienne grapples with the man she thought she left behind months ago, the man she thought she'd never have to see again.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: i'm standing right here on (jaime's) side [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956802
Comments: 23
Kudos: 77





	we'll toast to the could-have-been queen

**Author's Note:**

> clearly, I have no control over these characters anymore, or this would have been very different than it actually turned out to be.
> 
> this is loosely inspired by the movie Ocean's Eleven, though it's only the most basic idea and nothing about this will spoil the movie for you if you haven't seen it. I didn't actually like the movie that much, so writing this was an odd experience for me. 
> 
> this will be a series, by the way! it won't end here, as that would be rather cruel of me! I would not do that to you, or to myself! I promise!
> 
> title from Ghost Quartet, because I am who I am. I can be found on Tumblr as [potatothecat](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/potatothecat) if you feel like yelling at me about this, or the general state of the world, or your lunch, or whatever.

Tywin Lannister is known for going all-out at his annual charity galas, and this year is no exception. The grand ballroom of the Red Keep Royal Hotel is bedecked with jewels and silks and glittering lights, the guests within draped in finely-tailored suits and glittering gowns that cost more money than an entire apartment complex in Flea Bottom. Even the catering gleams and glows amid the jewels and the lights, served on fine china plates and imported from the most far-flung regions of the world.

Nothing but the absolute best for King’s Landing’s finest, of course.

Charity, Brienne Tarth thinks as she surveys the room from the balcony at the top of the main staircase, is a rather interesting word to describe an event such as this one. No expense has been spared in ensuring tonight’s gala is as flawless as possible, with more money poured into that venture than will be donated at the end of the night to the impoverished people of Flea Bottom, only a mile or so away from the hotel. Truly, it’s a remarkable feat of charity. She has no idea how Tywin Lannister manages all that, being so giving and considerate while also holding on to the largest corporate empire in both Westeros and Essos combined. It must be so difficult for him to be all of those things at once.

There’s a crackling sound in her ear, and she turns her head away from the noise below in order to hear better. “Look at all that,” Ygritte’s voice growls through the earpiece, her disgust evident even though Brienne can’t see her face. “All this extravagance, yet they can’t be bothered to make room for us Free Folk above the Wall when they develop it. It makes me sick.”

Asha’s low chuckle rings out over the connection, and Brienne chances a quick look across the room to see where their munitions expert is standing by a temporary crystal fountain with a champagne flute in one hand. “As it should. I mean, I’m standing next to a fucking crystal fountain right now. If that’s not a demonstration of obscene wealth, I don’t know what else is.”

Brienne shakes her head, smiling slightly. “Stay on topic, you two,” she warns them, though her voice is too amused to contain any true threat. “We’ve come too far to lose out by getting distracted now.”

“Same goes to you,” Ygritte says, and this time there’s no amusement in her voice. “We need you in top form if we’re gonna have a chance of pulling this one off. You can’t afford to be distracted by _anything_.”

“Don’t worry,” Brienne replies, far more casually than she thought she’d be able to. “Nothing can pull me off task tonight.”

Ygritte snorts but says nothing more, and Brienne silently thanks her for not pushing the matter any further. Unfortunately, she’s the biggest risk in this whole operation, and all of them know it far too well. Ygritte has every right to be worried about her becoming distracted and blowing this for all of them.

But he said he wouldn’t be coming tonight, weeks ago when he was laying next to her in bed, golden and beautiful in the morning sunlight. He hates these events, makes any excuse he can to get out of him. This particular night won’t be the exception. She can’t afford for it to be.

Her earpiece crackles again, a welcome distraction from her quickly spiralling thoughts. “Heads up, Arya,” Ygritte says, her tone relaxed enough to keep the statement from being too worrying. “The big security guard—Clegane—is headed your way. He’s not in a position to spot you, but—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Arya grumbles, and Brienne bites back a laugh. “Stay out of his line of sight. I know how this works, Ygritte. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Just making sure,” their hacker replies, entirely unbothered by Arya’s prickliness. They’ve all become used to each other’s habits and ticks in the last few months, resulting in a smooth banter where they’d have originally spat insults back and forth until Brienne had to separate them and send them off to different corners like children being banished to think about their actions.

There’s a minor commotion down below, and Brienne turns her gaze back to the ballroom to see a beautiful woman glide in, her dark hair perfectly coiffed into curls that tumble down halfway down her back. Her dark eyes scan the room until they land on Brienne, and she winks once before plucking a glass off a passing waiter’s tray and vanishing into the crowd, already returning to normal after the disturbance. She taps her earpiece and watches Asha’s head jerk up before she catches herself. “Arianne’s in,” she murmurs, glancing around to make sure she’s alone. “And she gave the signal, which means our esteemed host will be arriving any moment now.”

“Finally,” Arya says, eager now that the danger’s past—or at least, Brienne hopes the danger’s past. The Clegane brothers are their biggest concern besides her distraction, since even she isn’t certain about her ability to take down Tywin Lannister’s favoured security guards. Margaery was hoping to buy the younger one out, but she never revealed if that plan actually worked or not. 

“You got eyes on everyone?” Asha asks Ygritte, who laughs shortly before responding.

“Do I ever. Brienne’s on the balcony, right at the top of the stairs, Arya’s in the hallway outside dear old Tywin’s room, Arianne’s working the crowd over by the bar, Sansa’s near the main entrance pretending to be fascinated by Petyr Baelish, Margaery’s in the kitchen, the Jeynes are waiting just outside the hotel doors for the host to arrive, Joy’s blending in among the waitstaff so well it took me three minutes to find her, Shae’s in the room next to Tywin’s, Asha’s by the fountain, and I’m in a van in the alley behind the hotel. Truly, I have the worst lot out of all of us.”

“Excellent,” Brienne murmurs, half-listening to the chatter in her ear as she keeps one eye on the door. “We’re all in position. Let’s make sure it stays that way.”

“He’s here.”

Sansa’s voice is urgent as she bursts onto the line, more urgent than necessary for the arrival of the host of this ridiculous affair. “Brienne, _he’s_ here.”

For a moment, she frowns, her mind blank. Who is it that could possibly make Sansa sound so concerned, so afraid of the possible reaction? There’s no reason to react that strongly to any of the people they’ve marked out on the guest list.

And then she remembers. Remembers golden skin against white sheets, warm lips pressed against her neck, gentle hands running up and down her body. Remembers laughing green eyes and soft smiles and a deep voice purring in her ear, remembers the warmth of a body pressed up against hers, remembers gazing at _him_ lying sprawled across the bed before she walked out and shut the door between them, shut the door on whatever it was they had, a heavenly interlude that lasted for far too brief a time. 

_Shit._

Her thought echoes in her ear, and she’s momentarily baffled until Ygritte continues speaking. “You’re sure it’s him, Sansa? I don’t want everyone all worked up over a false alarm.”

“I’m sure,” Sansa says, and Brienne’s heart sinks. “He…he doesn’t look very happy to be here, but it’s definitely him. Although, I’d still get an opinion from Joy or Brienne, just to make certain.”

“Alright,” Ygritte mutters, something clicking at her end of the channel. “Joy, can you get a visual on the arrivals to confirm for us?”

“On it,” Joy says immediately, and Brienne takes that as her cue to turn away from the ballroom and avoid having to see him. “Give me a sec, and I’ll…yeah. It’s definitely him.”

“Shit,” Ygritte says again, voicing Brienne’s exact thoughts on her behalf. “Fuck, what are we gonna do? We weren’t counting on Brienne getting recognized, only Arianne. And we only have contingency plans for Marg…”

Margaery’s voice comes on the line, the first time she’s spoken the entire evening. “We have to continue on as normal. Maybe he recognizes Brienne, maybe she manages to avoid him, but either way it can’t be what derails us. As long as no one gets to Arya or Shae or you, then we’re good, and everything else can be improvised from there on out. Don’t panic about this, okay? It’ll all be fine.”

She keeps talking, but Brienne tunes her out when the temptation becomes too much. Against her better judgement, against the sensible part of brain screaming at her not to do it, she turns around, even though Asha’s glaring at her from across the room and every part of her is telling her _exactly_ how terrible an idea this is.

Her eyes find him almost instantly, drawn like a moth to flame. He’s as beautiful as ever, all chiseled features and golden skin complemented by a suit so well-tailored it might as well be an extension of his skin. Sansa’s right about him not wanting to be here, she notes as she studies his stiff shoulders, the tension in his spine, the dullness of his brilliant green eyes. She knows his body nearly as well as she knows her own, now. His pain, his distress, it’s practically a beacon calling out for her, making her long to gather him in her arms and kiss him until he’s smiling at her again, as bright and brilliant as he was that day in the bar, all those months ago. 

This _wasn’t supposed to happen_. He was supposed to be happy, uncaring, proof that she made the right call when she fled, leaving him and whatever path he might have dragged her down behind. He wasn’t supposed to be miserable, distraught, looking as heartbroken as she is over what was only a brief fling, a way of getting the information they needed without putting anyone in too much danger.

He walks slowly across the room, shaking his head when a waiter approaches with an offered tray of drinks. Everything he does seems duller, somehow, much less passionate and alluring and addicting than he was when she…when they…

She can’t tear her eyes away from him, can’t look away as she should. He’ll notice her staring any minute now, and she can’t afford to be distracted, can’t afford to be caught after they’ve put in so much work to make it here tonight. But he’s right _there_ , almost close enough to touch, and it’s been so long…

“Brienne!” Margaery hisses, and she jumps, shaking her head and snapping back into focus. “Brienne, stay with us. It’ll be fine, as long as you avoid him and make sure he doesn’t see you.”

She nods, belatedly realizing Margaery can’t see her. “Alright. I’ll do my best.”

“Gods, he looks miserable,” Joy whispers, her words like a punch directly to Brienne’s gut. “I thought it was just a quick fling, but he’s as despondent as he was when Uncle Tywin threw me out, if not more. Guess he really did care about you after all.”

She doesn’t mean anything cruel by saying so, but Brienne flinches anyways. Seeing him again like this is bad enough. Hearing from someone else that she’s not imagining his sadness is even worse, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to handle it if Joy keeps talking right now.

Then the crowd turns as one to face the entrance, right as her earpiece crackles again, this time admitting Jeyne Poole onto the line. “He’s here,” she says, and this time they all know exactly who it is without any further explanation. “It’s time.”

***

Brienne’s dress swirls around her legs as she descends the stairs—not the main staircase, that’d draw too much attention, but a smaller one near the corner of the ballroom. It’s not her preferred choice of outfit, too long and trailing to be practical if she has to resort to violence, but Lannister galas are strict when it comes to dress code. Men in suits or tuxes, women in gowns, or you don’t get in. _He’d_ complained about it once, muttering how unfair it was that his father couldn’t just let people wear whatever they wanted. Thank the gods he had, too, or she’d have tried to get in tonight dressed entirely wrong for the occasion.

No one glances in her direction as she joins the crowd on the main floor, everyone too focused on Tywin Lannister as he stands on the bottom steps of the main staircase, glass of champagne in hand, talking about kindness and sharing the gifts he’s been given and how grateful he is that they came tonight. It’s all a giant load of bullshit, of course, but none of the guests are likely to realize that. They’re all a part of this, anyways.

“Do you think he actually hears himself when he speaks?” Sansa asks gleefully, and several voices laugh in her ear at that. “Or is he too busy feeling self-important to think about how much of a hypocrite he is?”

“Second one, I think,” Joy replies, barely biting back her amusement. “I would know, I had to live with him for three years.”

Brienne shakes her head and tries to tune them out as she skirts the edge of the room, checking to see where all the security’s been positioned. The Clegane brothers are both in her line of sight, which is good news for Arya and Shae, upstairs running the most crucial part of this. She nods briefly to Asha as they brush past each other, both circling the room to ensure a safe perimeter for their escape. Arianne’s near the front of the room, watching Tywin closely as he transitions to talking about tonight’s cause and how much money they’ve raised so far—a pittance compared to the vast fortune that he sits upon, never spending a penny of to pay his employees. 

_He’s_ there as well, watching with the same dull eyes over the rim of a glass of what’s either water or straight vodka. For a brief moment, she’s within his line of sight, but he doesn’t glance in her direction and she breathes a heavy sigh of relief once she’s moved past the dangerous zone within range of his emerald-green eyes.

Joy slips by her at one point, heading for the kitchens to drop off a collection of dirty dishes, but they don’t dare acknowledge each other like she and Asha did. Two guests with no known connection sharing a nod is one thing. A guest greeting a server, someone the host considers hardly worthy to lick his boats, would be a very effective way of drawing attention they can’t afford to draw.

The Jeynes have moved inside now that Tywin’s here, though they both slip off down different hallways soon after Brienne makes eye contact with them, brief but reassuring. Sansa has finally managed to shake Baelish, it seems, and is hovering near the same fountain Asha was by earlier, one eye on Tywin Lannister and the other on _him_. She won’t ask Ygritte for confirmation now, but if everything is going according to plan then the others will be in position, prepared to strike or already acting as the speech drags on and on.

There’s cheering, suddenly, and she stops moving and turns to toast with all the rest as Tywin Lannister raises his glass, looking magnanimously down at his guests like an emperor would look down upon his subjects. He steps down from the stairs and everyone disperses, returning to conversations or dinner or dancing while he begins to make the rounds, all three of his children following with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

“Thank the gods _that’s_ over,” Arianne says vehemently, now that it’s safe for her to talk to them without being noticed. “I was worried he’d drag on forever with no signs of stopping.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t complain if he did,” Arya says, sounding slightly breathless but not like she’s being chased. “It’d give us more time to work. Not that we need it, though.”

“You’re done, then?” Margaery asks, her eagerness bursting into her tone. “You got all of it?”

“Every last bit,” Shae tells them, and Brienne can easily picture her smirking as she says it. “Every dirty little secret he’s ever tried to hide, and all of his kids’ too for good measure. Except the eldest son. He’s clean.”

Brienne’s gasp only goes unnoticed because Jeyne Westerling gasps louder. “He is _not_ clean,” she says vehemently. “Eldest son, preferred heir, too beautiful to be real? There’s no way he’s cleaner than his siblings are.”

“That’s what we found,” Shae says, and if Brienne could see her she’d probably be shrugging right now. “It’s not that much of a surprise, honestly. He was always the nicest of them, even nicer than the one who claimed to be in love with me.”

“Niceness isn’t necessarily an indicator of quality of person,” Arianne points out. “You thought Tyrion was nice, once. And Tywin Lannister gave a very pretty speech there, one that might have convinced me of his niceness if I didn’t already know better.”

“He wouldn’t take part in it,” Brienne says quietly, not fully certain if she should be saying anything at all. “I _know_ he wouldn’t.”

There’s a long pause, one where everyone else would be looking worriedly between each other if they were all in the same room. “I believe you,” Sansa says slowly, after a minute has passed without anyone speaking. “It still seems weird, but I believe you.”

“Well, guess that’s settled,” Ygritte says, far too brightly considering the tension of a few moments before. “I have everything you sent me, Shae, so now it’s time for you to get out.”

“My side’s clear,” Asha says, and Brienne’s about to say the same when she sees the elder Clegane brother heading for the stairs—the stairs that lead directly to the hallway where Arya and Shae still are. 

“Fuck,” she whispers, then, louder, “Mine isn’t. The eldest Clegane is heading up to your hallway. If you have another way out, now is the time to make use of it.”

Arya swears viciously, and Brienne can practically feel Sansa’s wince from across the room. “On it. Don’t wait up for us, alright? This is going to take a while.”

“What on earth are you planning—oh,” she hears Shae say, followed by a faint crash that has her gaze flickering over to where Clegane is, halfway up the stairs by now. He doesn’t react, though, instead glances down to where his boss is before continuing up the stairs, no faster than he’d been before.

“The rest of you should try to get out soon as well,” Ygritte says, distracting Brienne from Clegane for a second. “We have everything we need, and I don’t want to risk getting caught when we’re so close to victory.”

The original plan for departure involved slipping out after Tywin’s speech, either through the kitchens with Margaery and Joy or via a side exit as both Jeynes surely must have done by now. But she needs to keep an eye on Clegane, and Arianne’s departure will surely be noticed at this point, and…

_Oh, fuck._

Clegane’s gone, somehow vanished in the minute she’s been distracted by her thoughts about getting out of the hotel. Neither Arya nor Shae has said anything about hearing his approach, but if they’re trying to escape via an alternate route then they might not be able to hear him, no matter how heavy his footfalls are.

She spins around, trying to see if he’s descended the stairs and rejoined the other security or the guests, but his distinctive height is nowhere to be found. His brother has disappeared as well, though a quick scan of the room reveals him talking to _him_ , of all people. The younger Clegane brother nods, looking reluctant, before he vanishes out a side door behind the stairs, thankfully one that leads nowhere near where any of her team is trying to make their escape via.

She’s relaxed too soon, however, because as soon as she turns her gaze from the younger Clegane she sees green eyes staring directly at her, piercing into the depths of her soul as effectively as they did when he was lying in bed next to her, peppering her with innocuous questions that made her throat close up and left her unable to speak.

His lips move, mouthing what she thinks is her name, and her heart stops.

Before she can do anything rash like run across the room and fall to his feet begging for forgiveness, she turns and dashes away, just as she did the night she left. She needs to find the elder Clegane, needs to deal with the consequences of her brief distraction, needs to make sure they all get out alright. She can’t afford to be stuck on a man she never should have met, a man who’s sure to hate her once he realizes what they’ve done, why she’s here.

Sansa makes eye contact with her and frowns as she rushes over to the bar, but she shakes her head and the other woman turns away, albeit looking reluctant to do so. She’s fine. Really, she is. It’s just…a lot, seeing him again, the stress of losing track of Clegane, knowing she’s been recognized and can’t do anything about it.

“What’s everyone’s positions?” Jeyne Poole asks suddenly, jolting Brienne out of her concern. “I feel like more of us were supposed to be out by now.”

“We were,” Ygritte mutters, likely shaking her head at the delay. “Let’s see…Margaery and Joy have been delayed by a dropped dinner, which should hopefully clear up in a few, but they’re alright otherwise. Arya and Shae are a little bit trapped right now, though they’re not in any danger of being seen, thankfully. Arianne should be good where she is, as it’d be pretty rude for her to leave right now. I’m not sure what’s delaying Sansa and Asha? They should have left by now.”

“Security’s too tight around our exit,” Asha explains grimly. “I’m trying to find another path out, but the crowd’s making it tricky.”

“As long as you’re working it out, then. I’m out in the alley with the Jeynes, and Brienne is still inside, though she should probably leave before you-know-who sees she’s here.”

 _Too late for that one_ , Brienne thinks, a bit bitterly. He’s already seen her, although it seems that he’s not willing to do anything about it. Maybe this will all work out and they’ll be able to get away without any additional hassle.

“Brienne,” Ygritte says sharply, and she jerks her head up. “You’ve got incoming.”

She spins around and sees _him_ walking towards her, hands flexing around the glass he still holds tightly in between them. His eyes pin her in place, and she can’t move, frozen beneath the weight of his gaze, the seriousness in it she never saw during their time together. She should probably leave, flee like Ygritte’s just warned her to, but he’s too close, too much, and she can’t escape the hold he has on her, can’t outrun her feelings now that he’s here in front of her, looking at her in that way that makes her feel seen.

He’s even more devastating up close, because now she can see the stubble on his jaw, the sharp planes of his face that look like something one of the great old sculptors created with hours of painstaking work, the endless feeling in those green eyes as they stare and stare and stare. The lines of his tuxedo fit him beautifully, and she flicks her gaze over his body, recalling exactly what he looks like beneath the dark suit, what he looks like bathed in early morning sunlight, the lines on his face smooth in sleep, what he looks like with his head thrown back in ecstasy, or with his mouth pressed to her body, his head buried between her legs while those sharp green eyes follow her every response, devouring her and leaving her shaking and sated and _happy._

Gods, why had she left this man behind? What foolishness had her thinking that she could live without him, that her life was complete without him at her side, in her bed, in her heart? How could she have left him, made that sadness appear in his eyes, shattered her own heart into a thousand pieces on the ground? 

He stops a few steps away, just far enough to be polite and considerate, just far enough for a host greeting one of his guests, someone he’s acquainted with but doesn’t know very well, and she wants to sob at even that small distance between them. He should be closer, should be tangled up with her, so close together she can’t recall where she ends and where he begins. He shouldn’t be standing so far away, a few steps and a thousand miles all at once. _Gods, why is he so far away?_

His hands clench around the glass once more, and then he sets it aside, his right hand twitching like it wants to reach out for her, cup her cheek or stroke her hair or pull her into him and just hold her. Maybe she’s projecting, imagining her own desires are his as well, but gods, she wants. She wants so much it physically hurts her to stand here in front of him and do nothing, to not reach out and touch him or pull him close and tell him that it’s okay, she’s here, she’ll never leave him again.

“Brienne,” he says, his voice little more than a whisper, his eyes so, so sad. He gazes at her, saying nothing else, all the words spilling out through his eyes, which are practically begging her to say something, do something, to prove him right or wrong, to heal his soul or break it again, this time irreparably. Then again, just as soft as the first time, “Brienne.”

What can she do, faced with him in this moment, the crowd fading into the background behind them? She wants to bridge the gap between them, wants to take hold of his hand and press it close to her heart, but will he accept that? Will he believe her, after she left him the way she did?

There’s nothing to say, and there’s everything to say, and none of it seems to be spilling from her tongue, or his, or both at once. They’re so close, and they’re so far, and she doesn’t know how to reach across this particular chasm and connect them once again, doesn’t know how to regain his trust when she broke it so brutally, like it meant nothing to her that he’d shown her every part of himself and been given so little of her in return.

She wants to say so much to him, wants to explain, to beg for his forgiveness, to profess her love, _something_. But all she has is his name, just as all he has is hers as they stand here, impossibly close yet impossibly far.

“Jaime,” she breathes, and something sparks in those eyes as she does, sending a shiver down her spine as his gaze sharpens, trapping her even more as all she can do is look back, meet his eyes and hope she’s not revealing too much through her own. “ _Jaime_.”

He steps forward, once, then twice, then he’s surging up against her, backing her into the wall, and she could stop him if she wanted to, push him back and run away, and he knows it, they both know it, but she lets him pin her against the wall, lets his hands run over her cheeks, through her hair, down the sides of her body, over her stomach and her breasts and back up the sides of her neck to cup her face and press his own to it. His eyes gleam, filled with unshed tears that he keeps blinking back and she wants to brush away, wants to press her lips to in comfort while murmuring soft words into his hair. _Jaime, Jaime, Jaime, oh, how I’ve missed you._

“Brienne,” he says again, a mere breath of air brushing against her lips as his forehead touches hers, as those green green eyes bore into her own, as she gasps against him, breathless from the _feel_ of him so close to her, so warm, so _Jaime_. “Brienne.” Then, pulling back ever so slightly, hurt spreading over his face, “Brienne, where did you go? What are you doing here, after all this time?”

A pause, while his face twists, half in agony, half in relief, and his eyes flutter closed before opening once more, turning bitter and sad and lonely. “Brienne, why did you leave me all alone?”

**Author's Note:**

> we don't see jaime's internal monologue in this (yet), but simply imagine a lot of screaming and you'll have it. he'd like to be screaming on the outside as well, but unfortunately he has an image to maintain and can't do that in the middle of a gala.
> 
> this _is_ a non-linear story, so we're actually closer to the end then we are to the beginning right now. I have no idea when the next part might show up, but if I have enough time it might even be tomorrow. 
> 
> Brienne's team in this is her, Margaery Tyrell, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, Arianne Martell, Asha Greyjoy, Ygritte, Joy Hill, Shae, Jeyne Westerling, and Jeyne Poole. why they're doing this is, unfortunately, a secret for a little bit later. 
> 
> calling the Jeynes that may be the funniest thing I've ever come up with that's only funny to me. you might not like it, but I really enjoyed that one, so it's going to be used constantly now. by me, at least.
> 
> thank you for reading!!


End file.
